


Playing God

by zombiecatfire13



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Humor, No Romance, Spoilers, Video Game Mechanics, snarky friendship, some world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiecatfire13/pseuds/zombiecatfire13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>IF YOU KEEP READING, YOU WILL SEE SPOILERS. Many years after Wilson took Maxwell's throne, he decides to play the role of his predecessor by luring Willow into the world that ate him alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

((((==> WARNING! SPOILERS LIE AHEAD! This is the only time I’ll say this, because I don’t think I’ll have many people skipping the first chapter.))))

The lull of evening descended upon a relatively quiet town. Many of its residents had recently finished their dinner, gotten home from the late shift, realized that they were now in debt after a shopping spree, or other mundane things like that. The chill of late fall often brought the day to an early end, and as snow had been forecasted for the oncoming night, many of the folk who would normally be romping about outside of their homes were instead forced to seek shelter and warmth. Those who were still about the peaceful town, however, might catch a glimpse of a girl who had seen enough warmth for a lifetime.

The girl was a teenager, clothed in modest garb and covered in soot. She clutched a damaged teddy bear in her right hand, her dead eyes staring straight ahead. The work was done. Her parents had died in the night by come cause that the girl could not identify through her desperate sobbing. She spent the following day, that is to say the one she was presently in, staring at their cadaverous forms, numbed to the core. Then she realized what would happen to them. They would decay, like all dead things. They would be her parents no longer, only monsters of rotted flesh. The girl did the only thing she could think to do. She baptized her parents in the most beautiful thing she had ever seen: fire.

The girl walked from the burnt husk of her old home with no hope, no plan. She walked through the familiar streets of her hometown, passing quaint shops that once seemed friendly and inviting. Now they were only part of a scab, a dead memory that blistered when touched.  
“Excuse me, young lady.”  
The girl looked up to find the source of the voice that had sounded a moment earlier, but saw no one. She turned and looked to her right, into the window of an antique shop, where it sounded as if the voice had come from. Yet no one was visible to her, just an empty shop and a few items displayed on a desk before the window she was looking into. A clock, an ash tray, a few glass figurines, a radio…

Suddenly the face of a light-blonde-haired boy poked his head around a large shelf like a startled meerkat. The boy looked not much older than the girl herself, not that she had much time to study him as he flung himself across the shop and to the entrance. He flung the door open, the momentum carrying the top of his body out of the shop while his feet remained planted on the floor. “Hi! We’re open!” he panted, “did you need something??” The girl took a moment before speaking. “… Not really. I just thought I heard…”  
“What?” the boy asked, studying her with curiosity. “… Nothing,” she muttered. “I don’t need anything.”  
“Of course you do! Come i—“ the boy started excitedly, but quickly cleared his throat while straightening his body, standing at his full height. “Come in,” he said, forcing his voice to assume a lower, more professional tone. Eyeing the boy with bewilderment, the girl entered slowly. The boy followed her, closing the door behind them. “Ah, if you need anything, I’m Alphonse.” After receiving no reply from the girl, Alphonse prompted, “and you are…?”  
“Willow,” the girl answered. The boy grinned, “Willow! That’s a, ah, pretty name… Er, anyway… yes! This is an antique shop!”  
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Willow replied, walking over to the desk she had been looking at from outside. Specifically, she was looking at the radio that rested upon it. Alphonse noticed.

“Oh, do you like that radio?” he asked intently. “… Yeah,” Willow replied, surprised to find that she wasn’t lying. Alphonse took no heed of her contemplation, instead launching into a precise salesmanship act. “Ah, yes, that’s my great-great-great… Er, a lot of “great” uncle’s! It was found in his house. See, he hadn’t been seen in a few months, so my lots-of-greats aunt busted in, and…” Willow stopped him by holding up her hand, “I don’t care,” she said. “… Er, right!” Said Alphonse nervously, “Yeah, I must be boring you. I mean, who wants to hear an antique’s history? Nobody, that’s who. Stupid… poo-brains.” Willow raised an eyebrow in judgment. Alphonse blushed, “Y... you know what I mean!”  
“I really don’t,” Willow smirked. “So, do you wanna buy it?” Alphonse asked, still flustered. “No,” said Willow, “I only said I like it… I never said I’d buy it.”  
“Well… yeah, I guess you shouldn’t,” Alphonse sputtered, “you should… save your money on… a shower. You look homeless.” Willow took a minute to ponder this statement. “I guess I am,” she said at length. Alphonse’s face whitened. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, his face contorting into an expression of pity. Willow despised it. “Do… do you need anything? Of course you do. I’ll, uh… I’ll get you some towels. Actually, I live just above the shop. I’ll set up a bath for you, and a bed, or something. Just… just…” Alphonse scurried off, overwhelmed by his need to help this poor destitute girl.

“Goodness, I thought he’d never leave.”  
Willow spun around, looking in every direction. It was that same voice again!  
“He’s a good boy, but he would only impede our conversations.”  
“Where are you?” Willow asked sharply, glaring daggers at the air around her.  
“Oh, I don’t mean to frighten you, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to see me at the moment. As for where I am… Well, I’m a long way away. I’m using the radio to talk to you.”  
Willow looked to the radio that sat on top of the desk. She walked over to it, picking it up gingerly.  
“Yes, that’s the one! Now, why don’t we—“  
Willow turned the volume all the way down. She waited a few seconds, before turning it back up again.  
“That was quite rude.”  
Willow blinked. “Either my hallucinations are very accurate, or this radio actually is talking.”  
“Oh, no, radios don’t talk. But I do! Ha ha ha, ha… ha…”  
Willow rolled her eyes. The voice on the radio cleared its throat awkwardly.  
“Ah… Yes… Anyway, Willow, I—“  
“How do you know my name?”  
“… Well… I, ah, don’t mean to sound odd, but I’ve been watching you.”  
Willow scrunched her face, “and how is that not supposed to sound ‘odd’?”  
“I know what you’ve been through,”  
The voice said solemnly, and Willow’s heart dropped. The voice took on a sympathetic tone, but not one of pity, like Alphonse had shone. The voice sounded as if somehow it could understand what she was going through. She felt like she could trust it.  
“I’m sorry, Willow. This must be very hard for you. And I promise you, you’re not going crazy. In fact, something good may very well come your way. I have a proposition for you.”  
Willow tensed, “a proposition?” she repeated.  
“Yes. A test. If you pass, I’ll give you something good.”  
“Something good?” Willow repeated again, “that’s a pretty sorry offer.”  
“No, what I have to offer you is VERY good. You won’t be disappointed.”  
“Then why don’t you tell me what it is?”  
“Not here, I’m afraid… and not now. I’d like to meet you in person, and then we can work something out.”  
Willow was silent. All this seemed pretty shady.  
“What do you have left to lose?”  
Nothing. The voice was right. “Okay, I’ll meet with you. Where are you?”  
“That’s a bit difficult to explain. But you can be here in an instant, provided you find the right door. Don’t worry, you’ll know what I’m talking about when you see it. There is a special door in this shop… a mechanism, really. Look for a large, wooden structure. If you turn it on, we can meet. All you need to do is pull the lever.”  
Willow nodded, “okay, I’ll go look for it.”

Willow walked to the back of the antique shop, looking down its rows of rustic, wooden shelving. She reached the far wall without seeing anything like what the radio described. She opened a door an the far wall that Alphonse has left through earlier, leaving it unlocked in his mad dash. Opening it, Willow found that it led to a narrow hallway, at the end of which stairs ascended to the upper level. Before that was another door marked “STORAGE” in capital letters. Willow checked the door, finding that it was also unlocked. Pushing it open, she groped against the wall for a light switch in the room’s utter darkness. She soon found one, pushing it upward to summon a wave of fluorescent light that temporarily blinded her. Blinking away the sensation, Willow continued into the small room, closing the door behind her.

There it was. Whatever it was, Willow had found it. Taking up most of the space in the room, surrounded by dust-covered knickknacks was the biggest whateveritwas Willow had ever seen. Sure enough , a lever presented itself, ripe for the pulling. A sudden wave of dread washed over her, causing her spine to tingle. She was having second thoughts.  
WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO LOSE?  
Nothing. As Willow reflected on the radio’s words, she pulled the lever. Then the shadows came for her.

“Excuse me, young lady.”  
Willow awoke with her head pounding and her vision skewed, but she shot to her feet, ready to confront whoever had been watching her sleep. She stared down her attacker, crouched in what she hoped looked like a deadly combat. What she saw was a very surprised-looking man, rather short and wearing a red vest with a plain white shirt beneath, long black gloves, and pants and shoes to match. “… Ah, Willow?” the man repeated shakily, sounding almost timid. Willow recognized the voice; this was the man from the radio! But that wasn’t the most interesting thing about him. What willow couldn’t take her eyes off of was his hair. It was black like hers, but it defied gravity by curling upward, making it look like dark fire. Willow was enchanted. “How much hair gel do you use??”


	2. Chapter 2

((((==>It might be useful to know that I have never actually beaten Don’t Starve. I only know the ending based on a video that I watched of it, and as I haven’t gotten very far in the game (the first level of adventure mode, at this point in time), I may get some story-related details wrong. Please don’t dwell on those if you see any!))))

Wilson was fairly confident in the strength of the mental connection between him and his Pawn. He had taken it to the far edges of the islands, far away from where he was on his plane. He still wasn’t quite sure how all of the islands were connected, but he believed that they all existed in the same space, and in the same dimension, just on slightly shifted versions of said space. This created what he called “planes”, or areas in a world that are only accessible through certain special means. At first Wilson had thought that Maxwell’s doors were one of these means, which in a way they were, but they were not what can accurately be called a “door”. They seemed to be more like beacons, things that could draw in, or possibly only marked the location of, some sort of beings that could bring one across dimensions. To Wilson, they appeared as hands made of dense shadow. Yet he had never seen Maxwell travel via the grip of these strange beasts (though the shadowed hands Wilson saw bore a striking resemblance to the ones that shackled Maxwell to his throne). Now he knew why.

Maxwell had been using a Pawn when Wilson had seen him. A Pawn was an artifact of unknown, perhaps unknowable, origin. It held the shape and size of a pawn in the game of chess, with two equally-divided sides of black and white, split vertically. A Pawn, of which Wilson had only ever seen the one he possessed now, was able to psychically link to its user, which Wilson assumed was whoever sat upon the throne. After synchronizing with its users’ mind, the Pawn then transformed into what the user envisioned himself as. Like Maxwell, Wilson appeared as himself. (He suspected that this may point to an egotistical nature, and had much time… eternity, really… to dwell on the thought) He appeared as who he was before god-knows-how-long warped his perception, and quite possibly his mental faculties (which were none too impressive to begin with). He wore the same clothes he had when he first became stranded. In fact, he looked the picture of health! Clean-shaven, sharp-eyed, bones not yet visible… Wilson missed those days of freedom and torture. He had been worn away to a scraggly mess of pale skin and bone, and though he had managed to keep most of his wit (probably. It’s not like he could ask anyone), he had lost so much of what he had been. He longed for freedom, even if it meant being stripped away from reality, as he had seen Maxwell do. Wilson relished death.

Wilson thought that when the time came, as he always knew it would, he would be ashamed of himself. He rued the thought of becoming he whose name he had spent so long cursing. But he was so tired. Wilson just wanted to sleep. He had found someone to take his place, as Maxwell had him. A young girl by the name of Willow, whose family had been lost by flames and death. No one would miss this poor girl, just as no one would have missed him. He had lured her to the shadows, and the activation of Maxwell’s door had prompted them into action. Even now, the young girl way waiting in her slumber. No, young LADY. Wilson must remember his manners. He was a GENTLEMAN, for god sakes, albeit one who was about to lead an innocent young g… LADY into an eternal trap. But he would have to wait for her to awaken. The Pawn’s function surely was amazing, but it could only project an image. The image was perfectly lifelike, the Pawn held suspended and unseen at its center, but it was only that: an image. He could not touch anything (the image only looked as if it was touching the ground), and he certainly could not feel anything. But he could see, hear, and speak using the Pawn, and that was all that was needed.

Wilson (that is to say, the Pawn) looked upon Willow as she slept. He only wished to see that she survived her slumber, and would depart upon her first stirrings, as Maxwell had done to him.  
After all, Maxwell’s method had worked, and what is not broken cannot be fixed.  
Wilson noticed Willow stir slightly. Time for a greeting… just like Maxwell.  
“Excuse me, young lady.”  
When it breaks, however… that’s an entirely different matter.

Without warning, Willow shot to her feet, crouching with a menacing look on her face. Wilson was dumbstruck. ‘SHIT!!!” he screamed in his head, thankful that the young lady before him wasn’t privy to his thoughts (it wasn’t like him to use such language). He tried to move, tried to think… nothing. “Ah… Willow?” he said sheepishly. The black-haired girl studied Wilson cautiously. Her expression slowly lost its hostility, and was replaced with one of befuddlement and wonder. “How much hair gel to you use??” Came Willow’s sudden inquiry. Wilson’s brain fizzled and flopped like an electrocuted jellyfish, “I… uh… you… I don’t… none?” Willow smirked, “are you ASKING me?” Wilson would normally have been mildly insulted, but in his confusion, he simply said, “yes.” Willow tapped her chin, “hmm, well, in my professional opinion… I’d say ‘a lot’.”  
“… Oh,” Wilson responded, but shortly blinked away his dazed confusion, replacing it with an entirely different brand of worried confusion. “You should be scared. I was rather frightened when—aaaaahhhmmmmmm…” Wilson clamped his mouth shut, his eyes darting away. Willow narrowed her eyes, her mirth gone entirely. Wilson realized that her joking attitude had been a ruse, and that he had been thoroughly taken in. “I was scared at first, when I saw you watching me sleep. I was scared when I heard you on the radio. But now that I see you…” Willow shook her head, “you’re not scary. You’re short and awkward.”

Wilson shrugged and accepted the insult. He had received many like it. “You said you had a bargain for me,” said Willow in a curt, businesslike manner, “something good.” Wilson considered this. His plan had gone to hell, but maybe he could salvage something from this. Some opportunity. He wasn’t Maxwell, after all, and it was time he stopped trying to be. A new confidence enveloped Wilson, and his mouth twisted into a fiendish smile. “Yes, something VERY good.” Willow rolled her eyes, “you’re still not scary.”  
“… Ah, of course not,” said Wilson, clearing his throat. “Why don’t we find a place to sit and discuss things? I’m sure you will…”  
“No,” Willow interrupted him, her eyes still a sharp glare, “you tell me NOW.” Wilson’s attitude shifted again, back into the awkward state it had been a moment ago. He mumbled something, looking rather embarrassed. “Speak up,” snapped Willow. Wilson grinned sheepishly, “ah, sorry… but I have to correct you… it’s ‘you will tell me now’… sorry,” he repeated. Willow snorted (a rather unladylike sound to make) in disgust, folding her arms. Her silence was an obvious hint that Wilson was to move on RIGHT THIS INSTANT. “Right…” he said, lacking the devilish smile he held before, but now possessing of a genuine, shy-looking one. “I’m willing to make a trade. I’ve been alone here for… a very long time, and I’ve grown… bored.” Wilson hoped that this didn’t sound too cliché to be believable. “If you can complete a few challenges I’ve prepared in this land, I’m willing to give you something very special. You’ve seen my shadows… you’ve seen what I can do.” Wilson had never been very good at lying. He now wished he had practiced. Willow studied him, unconvinced. “And what… exactly… do you promise me?”  
She’d better believe this…  
“Three wishes.”


	3. Chapter 3

Willow’s face held a taut, emotionless expression as she tried to think of what the man had actually said. What she had heard him say was that he could offer her “three wishes”. That was, of course, ridiculous, even for someone who could seemingly control shadows (though Willow was still wary to believe anything this strange man said. She’d seen many who could blusteringly claim anything to take advantage of a situation). She tried to think of words that sounded similar to the two she had mistakenly heard, but any alterations that she could come up with seemed even less likely. The man who had made her the offer seemed unsettled by her delayed response, and had begun wringing his hands together nervously, eyes down.

“…Three wishes,” she repeated at length, unable to come up with a suitable alternate. “Ah, yes,” the man replied, seeming relieved at Willow’s eventual reaction, “three wishes.” Willow shook her head slowly, and Wilson tensed up again. Maybe he should have offered her one wish? Would that have been more believable? Of course not! A wish is an extraordinary thing to offer in the first place, so why would the NUMBER of impossible things make any difference? Wilson tried to look resolute, hoping no doubt showed on his face. He really needed this girl to believe him! “So… YOU…” Willow said, quite clearly sending the message that she didn’t care if Wilson was the Devil himself (which, as far as Wilson knew, was a possibility), “do you actually believe that you can grant me this ludicrous offering?”  
“I KNOW I can… certainly!” Wilson protested. “Look around you,” he prompted, gesturing to the general area, “my shadows brought you here.” Willow begrudgingly followed the man’s suggestion, only to sigh deeply and say, “all I know is that someone brought me to some crappy, barren woods, probably after drugging me… or something. Was that one guy in on it? The annoying one?” Wilson managed to start the sound of a response before Willow held up her hand. “Nope, not listening.”  
“But I didn’t—“  
“Don’t care.”  
“If you’ll just…”  
“I’m going home.”  
There was a silent tension between the two as Willow realized what she had said. She didn’t have a home anywhere. Now all she had was a worried stranger who watched her in her sleep. Said stranger murmured, at length, “please, believe me. You’re not in your world anymore. The shadows brought you here.” Willow looked to him, eyes dark and sad, “… what SHADOWS?” Wilson’s brow furrowed as he tried to conjure an accurate description. “You know, those…” he vaulted onto his toes, holding his arms forward and up, drawing his fingers (that Willow could almost swear were clawed) out and back into a predatory grab, looking like he was trying to mime a pouncing lion. Willow almost laughed as she asked, “the big, black hands?” Wilson snapped his fingers, falling back into his usual posture, “yes, those.”

Willow considered this, “… Are you some sort of djinn?” Wilson smiled, “oh… you know of those? I didn’t expect you to know anything of mythology. Er, not that I expressly thought you WOULDN’T… but it’s a topic that has always fasc…”  
Willow held up her hand again, the gesture obviously familiar to her, “slow down. I don’t actually know anything about them. It’s just a fancy word for genie, right?” Wilson looked disappointed, “… ah, never mind. No, I don’t believe I’m a djinn. You could say I’m… the ruler of this realm.” Willow raised an eyebrow, “really.”  
“Is that any more ridiculous that me being a dj… genie?”  
Willow shrugged and tilted her head, “no, I guess not. What do you mean by ‘this realm’?” Wilson was starting to feel defensive, “you’re asking a lot of questions.” Willow gave him a deadpan look, “you’re really shady.” Wilson wished he had had the opportunity to discuss his confinement with Maxwell… though he supposed it was really his fault for trusting a suspicious voice on the radio who granted forbidden arcane knowledge. After considering this, Wilson wouldn’t really blame Willow for being suspicious.

“As I told you, you’re not in your world anymore,” Wilson noticed a look of doubt on Willow’s face, but continued regardless, “the shadows… those hands… brought you… here. The land where I rule. Well, I don’t actively ruse much of anything, but I just… you know…” Wilson twirled his hand. “Rule?” Willow guessed. “Exactly,” affirmed Wilson. “There are many dangers hidden within this treacherous expanse. Some, however, are not so hidden. All you need to do is survive.”  
“Survive... for how long?” Willow queried, her tone significantly less suspicious than before. “Until you can reach me,” Wilson answered, holding his hands behind his back in an official manner. “There are many more doors for you to find, and many more hands waiting for you.” Willow cringed slightly at how awkward that sounded, but Wilson didn’t seem to notice. “Your aim is to travel across a series of planes… I’ll explain that later… until you reach me, braving the elements and countless monsters that—“  
“Question,” Willow interjected. “Ah… yes?” Wilson acknowledged, wondering what was so important that it would cause willow to interrupt him… as if she didn’t already do that anyway. “What do you mean ‘reach you’? You’re standing right in front of me.” Wilson’s expression changed to that of a startled deer. Willow’s question was an oncoming car, and Wilson’s mind-deer could do nothing to avoid it. “Th-that… I… er…” Wilson cleared his throat, tugging at his collar. “I-I’m just… using… I’m just projecting…” Wilson’s eyes lit up as an idea came to him, “I’m meditating in my throne room right now. I need to stay here… for, you know, things like protecting my castle that completely exists and waiting for you… so I’m using a sort of mental projection technique. It combines magic with monk-like focus…” he moved his arms fluidly in a mime of magical energy, or possibly a river, “it is really very impressive.” Willow nodded, “ah. That makes sense.”  
“It does?”  
“Yeah,” she gestured downward, “that explains why your feet don’t displace any grass.”  
“Oh… oh! Very clever!” Wilson raised his hands to applaud giddily, but balled them into fists midair and shot them back down to his sides when he realized how silly that would look. “So…” Willow continued, now seeming to fully accept that what Wilson was saying was the truth (even in cases when it wasn’t), “if I live long enough to find you, assuming I do, you will grant me any three wishes I want? As in… anything.” Wilson nodded, “what cannot be achieved through science can be so by magic.”  
“And… you’ll send me home as soon as you grant my wishes, right?”  
“… Yes.” Wilson’s chest felt cold and heavy as he spoke this lie. If he wasn’t in Hell now, he was certainly headed there as soon as Willow took his place on the eternal throne. Willow nodded to herself, her eyes unfocused as her mind reached inward. “Right… I’ll have plenty of time to think about my other two wishes…” she mumbled to herself, though Wilson’s heart twisted as he heard her world. He was a heartless monster for using the girl like this. She could never have her family back, and Wilson knew all too well that false hope only led to greater heartache. He tried to swallow his guilt and put on a stupid grin as Willow looked to him, her face softened. “…Okay,” she said, “I’m in.”

“Excellent!” Wilson made a grand sweeping gesture. “BUT…” Willow announced, pulling Wilson out of his forced merriment, “I want to know your name.” Wilson coked his head in a silent plea for information, and was about to express this desire verbally when Willow said, “you’ve known my name for an unreasonably long time, I assume… and I think you might cry if I keep calling you ‘you’,” she added in a falsely mocking tone. Wilson grinned amiably, “oh certainly! A gentleman cannot stand such coarse behavior for long without bursting into tears.”  
“So?” Willow prompted, her good mood genuine at last. Wilson smiled and straightened his frame, and as if his name were the most wonderful thing in the world, resonantly proclaimed, “Wilson P. Higgsbury.”


	4. Chapter 4

"You'll want to have a campfire built before the sun sets," Wilson suggested. "Just let me rest, okay?!" Willow snapped. She'd been hard at work for hours, collecting sticks, grasses, and rocks, her only meal what meager amount of berries she'd been able to collect before Wilson informed her of some pressing matter that she MUST ATTEND TO IMMEDIATELY. He had been tirelessly advising her for the better part of the day, only stopping when she claimed to have heard something growling from afar and asked him to investigate. The odd man had done so with surprising urgency, causing Willow to wonder if there was something to worry about after all. Those thoughts were soon lost, however, as Willow laid back on the brittle grass, watching as the strawberry light of the sunset played itself across the reaches of the sky. She was tired and hungry, but at least she was distracted. This odd world almost seemed pleasant… if a bit foreboding. The mindless tasks of survival had kept Willow's thoughts away from her old life, and the fate of her parents. She heard Wilson nagging at her, letting the sound turn to static as her mind wandered. Her old life…

Willow's eyes snapped open as she sat up, gasping, "Ash!!" Wilson jumped slightly, before giving her a quizzical look, "'ash'…?" Willow patted the ground around her and cast her gaze frantically about, though she knew it was of no use. Wilson watched her, unsure of what on earth this strange little lady was doing. "Are you… looking for some ash? It's a useful component, to be sure. You can obtain it by…"  
"No, idiot! Not ash! Ash!"  
Wilson became even more perplexed, "there is absolutely no difference between the two words you just said…" Willow buried her face in her hands, huffing with anger, "Ash with a capital 'A'! It's the name of my teddy bear!"  
"Oh…" Wilson nodded, "… aren’t you a bit old to have a teddy bear?" Willow shot him a burning glare out of the corner of her eye. Wilson was taken aback by the intensity of pure wrath in the look, but then he realized what made that bear so special. His face softened to pity, "it's all you have left of your family, isn't it?" Willow's gaze trailed down to the ground, as she did not wish to see any more of that damnable on anyone else's face.  
Her eyes snapped back up. "Bring him back," she ordered. Wilson cast her a concerned look, "…pardon?"  
"Bring him back," Willow repeated. "The last place I had him was in that antique shop, I'm sure of it. You said that this is 'another world'… and it sure looks like it." She shook her head, "I might not make it through this… and I don't want to die without…" she lowered her head, and Wilson would have thought that she was crying if not for the dark stability of her voice. "That's my first wish," she continued after a calming pause.

Wilson's brow furrowed. Was it just him, or was this young lady's descent into madness kicking off a bit more quickly than expected? Wilson could understand the sentimentality of a childhood toy, but Willow seemed to become too concerned far too quickly. Of course, she had just lost her parents. Maybe her marbles with them? "Eh, who am I to judge?" mumbled Wilson, shrugging. Willow's head snapped around, her face burning with angry suspicion, "what?!"  
"Uh…" Wilson hadn't realized that he had been speaking aloud. "I just… ah… can't grant you any wishes yet!" He held his palms up and forced an awkward, toothy smile. Willow's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a sneer. "Uh, but don't worry!" Wilson quickly added. "I'm not worried. I'm angry," replied Willow in a low tone. "… Right, ah-hah… yes." Wilson's eyes darted around, hoping to find something to naturally fixate on. "When you, ah, find me, I'll give you your wishes. A-anything you want. Until then…" he shrugged, "sorry." Willow exhaled slowly, looking up to see Wilson nervously eyeing the setting sun. She guessed that he was dying to obnoxiously remind her for the millionth time that she had to hurry and… do whatever he said was important at the moment… but was too scared to speak up. Willow sighed tensely, "I've one wish left to think about. What next?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Wilson could not tell if Willow was sleeping. She was lying on the ground next to the fire she had built with surprising speed, just as the sun had set. Now she lay on the ground, unmoving but for the steady rhythm of her breath. Wilson simply stood stared at her, thoughts absently running through his head. He tried to remember what it was like to sleep, a luxury that the throne never allowed him. He tried to remember what a lot of things felt like. Standing for one. That would be nice. Instead, he was stuck sitting, bound to a cold, hard chair, listening to the same song for eternity. At least he never got any songs stuck in his head. There was no room for any other melodies besides the one that blasted record droned on without fail. He supposed it was better than no sound at all. Then, reconsidering, he decided that his first notion about the song was correct, and that it was, in fact, completely terrible.

Wilson silently approached Willow, his face blank. Drawing his foot back, he then kicked forward enthusiastically, the image of his foot phasing through Willow's body. "BOOM," he exclaimed in a hushed tone. "Go away," Willow grumbled, curling her knees tighter to her body. "Go to sleep," Wilson ordered, still whispering even though Willow was speaking at a full groan. "I'm trying to, you weirdo," the girl retorted. "You try living on a chair, listening to the same song for eternity," he grumbled. "I'm sorry," Willow retorted, "but the office hours where I'll accept crazy have passed. Call again tomorrow."  
"Who are YOU to call crazy, you-"  
"Ding!"  
"'Ding'? What is that supposed to-"  
"Ding ding ding!"  
"WELL THEN HOW ABOUT I TRY TALKING OVER YOU FOR A-"  
"Noooooooope. Bed. Go away." Without turning to him, Willow dismissed Wilson by waving her hand. "Good luck with the HOUNDS, then!" Wilson spat, but Willow ignored him. Wilson turned, preparing to walk briskly away, when he realized that he had nowhere else to be. Not that he really ever WAS anywhere besides Maxwell's throne, but declaring one's location when using the Pawn was an aggravation at best, anyway. Wilson turned back to Willow, half wanting to apologize. That girl was his only hope, after all.  
A piercing howl cut through the air, causing Wilson to look around in alarm, crouching automatically. He could feel his heart racing out of instinct, though he himself was annoyingly safe from harm. "Shit! I didn't think there actually WERE any hounds about!" The howl sounded again, causing Willow to stir. "Oh my GOD, Wilson. Are you HOWLING at me?"

"No. I'm not," he replied in a steady tone, "and I suggest that you get your ass moving posthaste." Willow turned to look at him in mildly offended confusion, "uh, what?" Another howl. Something was out there, and by the sound of it, it was not alone. Wilson wondered if it had been drawn to the fire, the thought quickly replaced by an urgency to get this fiery young lady out of harm's way. "You don't have time to be surprised," Wilson urged, necessity forcing the meek persona he had assumed into submission. It was fun to pretend, but Wilson just wasn't that nice of a guy. "You'll die. Something's coming. Hounds, werepigs… er, pigwolves… something's coming to kill you, and they'll succeed if you keep sitting there like a stupid lump of congealed 'essence of prey'." Willow shook her head slightly, as if trying to dislodge a thought, and stood. "Then don't take so long to insult me." She turned to run, but Wilson called, "wait! You'll need a torch!" Willow looked back to see the vague shapes of approaching beasts just outside the firelight's range. "Go!" Wilson yelled. Willow grabbed onto the branch of a nearby tree, twisting as she did, using the momentum of the movement to dislodge the thing. Taking out a match, the like of which she always carried, she set the stick aflame and fled.

Wilson turned to the approaching beasts. He was right, they were hounds. Two of them. He obviously couldn't fight them, given his ethereal state, but he hoped that they ignored his lack of scent and thought him a target. One of the beasts lunged, and Wilson darted aside. The hound's jaws briefly snapped shut over the image of his leg, and the second one came charging at him. Wilson rolled forward, passing under the leaping monstrosity, and whipped around when he was behind it. "Hey!" he barked to hold the hounds' attention, then turned tail and ran. He made sure to stay only slightly ahead of their waiting fangs, leading them away from Willow by keeping their interest in him. For once, Wilson was glad that his Pawn's image was only that, as his projection never tired and could run for as long as it needed to. And so the image of a false god ran on through the night, praying that his sacrifice remained in tact.


	5. Chapter 5

Daylight found Willow huddled beneath the cracked, blackened branches of one of the many former pine trees surrounding her. Her eyelids just barely parted, allowing her only the faintest sense of morning daylight. She hazily reflected upon the previous night, breath coming in low, shallow gulps. She had not seen the beasts that had attacked her, not truly. They were beyond the revealing firelight's range, and therefore beyond her knowledge. Wilson… wherever he was… had called them "hounds" or "werepigs"… or possibly "pigwolves". He'd seemed a bit flustered, which of course was understandable, seeing as he was probably dead by now. Maybe he had been engulfed by flames. Willow could hardly pick one event from another in the explosion of fear and action that had occurred after she had left Wilson. She ran with the torch she had lit, which she hoped kept at bay… whatever it was that lie in wait in the darkness of that rough expanse. She could hear things around her as she ran, moving alongside her with all the fluidity of living shadow.

Willow panicked. The noises of whatever surrounded her seemed to be closing in, and the fire of torch she held was quickly dissipating. She felt something brush against her. Roaring, she hurled the flaming wood she held at the source of the offending sensation. Dry wood met with sparking energy, and soon the world was engulfed in flame. Willow stood, unmoving, thoughts running through her mind with such constant ferocity that they, as a whole, created a loud cry of nothingness. She could not tell if the flames touched her, if they gave off heat… she felt as if she could not tell what was real. As the red, roaring beast of light burned through the carcasses of green that the forest provided, willow fumbled for her lighter, another pyrotechnic device, the likes of which she always kept on hand. She flicked the thing to life and waited. The surrounding air grew cold and empty, the aftermath of glory, and Willow remained. She waited out the night, not daring to sleep, not daring to move.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Wilson could hardly believe it, but he was bored. The thrill of running for your life was severely diminished when you had no life to protect… and, you know, when you're nowhere near any perceived danger. "Oh… whatever," Wilson said at last, letting the furious pumping of his nonexistent legs cease. The hounds lunged, almost simultaneously, their crushing jaws snapping through Wilson's image. "Uh-huh," Wilson addressed the confused beasts, "I bet you feel stupid now, huh?" The beasts rallied themselves and leaped again, and again they received nothing for their efforts. Wilson shrugged, "okay, you keep doing that, I guess. Dumb dogs." Another lunge by one of the hounds, but this time, the beast caught something solid. Its stinking maw closed around the Pawn. Wilson tried to call out in surprise, but his image became garbled by the sudden, unexpected motion of the piece, which was quickly swallowed. When Wilson's image refocused, it projected upward through the middle of the hound. "…Hm," he astutely observed, his brow furrowed in an expression of concerned bewilderment. The other hound turned its head to his image, and looked to be almost as confused as he was. Then, snarling, it pounced at him, landing squarely upon the back of the hound that had swallowed the Pawn. Said hound then turned upon the other, snapping and snarling. Garbled as the Pawn's image was, one could just make out Wilson's resigned sigh.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

As the afternoon's lazy light stretched across the sky, Willow's body's complaints finally overcame her awed, dimmed state. She was tired, sore, and hungry. She was scared, too… after all, who wouldn't be… but she pushed such feelings to the back of her mind, intent on focusing on the present. She needed food, shelter… and she needed to find Wilson. Annoying as he was, he seemed to have much useful knowledge about the world she was now stranded in (thanks to him… but, she had to admit, the alternative was no better). For hours, she had been fixated upon the idea that he was surely dead… but her new sense of grim, necessary motivation caused her to re-assess her assumptions. Wilson had said he was the "ruler" of this place. The attack of the hostiles did not necessarily disprove this, as if they were base, predatory creatures, they could not be commanded. More importantly, the Wilson that Willow knew was only a projected image of the man. He said that he was far away, in a castle that DEFINITELY EXISTED. While Willow was somewhat doubtful of the "castle" part of Wilson's story, she was sure of the fact that she saw a mere hologram, as evidenced by her earlier observations about his perceived weight not parting the grass, the fact that he did not cast a shadow, and that sometimes things like falling pine needles and avian excrement merely fell through some part of his visage.

As wary as she was of her surroundings, especially those unseen to her, Willow could not stay where she was. The hollow shells of the trees around her provided no protection from the elements or from unwelcome eyes, and there was no visible food source nearby. Her limbs ached as she stood, but Willow ignored this and trudged on. She saw the forms of large, hairy beasts in the distance, things that looked like giant, nightmarish mutations of mundane spiders. Willow could not tell if this perceived threat was imagined or real, but decided to steer clear just in case. On her way to a more thickly forested area, she passed through a quick series of dusty fields and relatively lush grasslands, the former of which was populated mostly by huge, but mostly harmless, buffalo-like creatures. These areas provided her with a meager amount of food in the form of berries, carrots, and even a few rabbits that she had managed to catch with traps she had constructed from accessible materials. But as the sun set, willow quickened her pace, as these locations could not provide her with the materials she needed to achieve her present goal.

Willow broke into a run as she saw the tips of many trees protruding into the skyline. The sun was lower that she would have liked, but at least she was finally within reach of her desired environment. She took a crude axe in hand and started swinging. Fire had served the girl well, and she did not expect it to stop now. Willow had soon felled several trees, collecting the fuel into a rough pile. She did not know if she had enough, but the sun's rays had almost completely dissipated, so it would have to do. She quickly constructed a fire pit, lined with stones she had found over the course of the day. Willow tossed wood into the pit, along with several clumps of dry, cracking grass. She threw a lit match into the center, and the concoction sprang to life. The silent eye of the moon rose as Willow fed the flame, which in turn grew brighter and taller, until it glowed tall and hot as a second sun. Now all she had to do was wait. She sat by the fire, skinning the flesh off of the rabbits she had caught earlier, preparing to cook them. She had to hope that Wilson, wherever he was, would see the light of her beacon against the piercing darkness. She longed for sleep, but she dared not risk it. She didn’t want to chance being caught off guard by either an attack or by Wilson. She smirked slightly. At least attacking beasts would leave her alone after they killed her. She doubted if Wilson would ever leave her alone… she supposed that was a good thing, at least until she got her wishes. She just didn't understand… why.

She tore hungrily into the rabbit's flesh, and waited. She waited as the moon shifted lazily across the night sky, occasionally feeding a dimming flame. Morning's gray light brought with it only despair. Was he dead? Was Willow alone? "WILSON!!!" She cried into the endless sky, "IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR BUTT OVER HERE RIGHT NOW, I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR GHOST ASS BACK INTO REALITY! AND I SWEAR, IF YOU'RE STANDING OUT THERE AND WAITING FOR THE SAKE OF DRAMATIC TIMING…" she lowered her head and hugged her knees to her chest, "… you really suck!" She fell to her side, hope slipping away with her consciousness. She slept fitfully, as is the act was defying the universe, only waking when she heard a familiar voice.

"Excuse me, young lady."


	6. Chapter 6

Willow marched single-mindedly through the woods, once again followed by Wilson. The man had tried several times over the past half-hour or so to strike up a conversation, but each attempt was struck down with either a glare or pointed nonresponse from Willow. "… So I see you've survived a night in the woods on your own," Wilson said, hoping to pry a response from Willow. "That's uh, pretty crazy, right? It's sort of like a right of passage out here…"  
Willow said nothing.  
Wilson rubbed his gloved hand nervously along equally gloved his arm. "It's pretty impressive that you've managed to do so at such a young age. Why, I wasn't out here until I was… well, I'd rather not say. It makes me feel pretty old!" It seemed that Wilson's poor attempt at humor was getting him nowhere. He sighed, casting his eyes downward, "look, I'm sorry. I just…"  
"Just WHAT?!" Willow snapped as she spun around. Wilson was glad she was finally talking to him… but this wasn't what he had hoped for. "Uh," he looked left and right, trying to avoid looking the angry girl in the eye, "I was trying to get back to you… I was being chased by hounds, remember? You should really… thank me…" Wilson arched his shoulders, visibly shrinking as he realized that this was probably not the best thing to say. "I'm sorry, I should WHAT?!" Willow fumed, lunging her body forward, causing Wilson to step back instinctually. "You keep asking… maybe you should wait until I answer…" Wilson really wished he could stop saying stupid things. Willow sighed heavily, pressing one hand to her temple and putting the other on her hip, "look, I KNOW this place is dangerous, and what you did probably saved me. So… yes, I probably SHOULD thank you for that. But I just… can't, okay?" she gave him a steely gaze, "it's your fault I'm here. Not that the alternative is much better," she mumbled, half to herself. "… I really am sorry," insisted Wilson, "believe me, I wouldn't wish this hell upon anyone… not without good reason, anyway."  
"Odd for you to consider your kingdom a hell, isn't it?" Willow said, looking directly into his eyes. Wilson panicked. He was just trying to be nice! Did she read too much into that… or was he being transparent?! It had taken so much effort to get her here, waiting for someone who was desperate enough to take his bait, someone who could be abducted without suspicion… and frankly, Willow passing that special radio on that day was just luck! And now she was staring at him. Expectantly. SHE WAS EXPECTANTLY STARING AT HIM. He wasn't prepared for this. His mind went blank. He-

"I was just joking," said Willow, placing her hands on her hips and twisting her lips into a wry smile. "Don't have a heart attack, old man." Old man? Oh, yes, Wilson recalled, he had called himself old earlier in an attempt to make Willow laugh… or at least make eye contact. But he didn't trust this friendly, or at least mildly jovial, side of Willow. Last time he had confronted it, it had been a ploy to make him lower his guard. He had thought that the fiery girl was finally over her rage… but now he was not so sure. "The calm before the storm," he muttered, not fully aware that he was speaking aloud. Willow's gaze went hard for a moment before softening again. Wilson could scarcely believe how "all over the place" this girl was. "… So," she said, after what seemed like an eternity (albeit a very short one), "you never actually told me… what are these 'challenges' that you have prepared for me?" Wilson started. He'd forgotten that he'd said that. "Um, well… I suppose surviving the night was one of them."  
"You suppose?" Willow echoed, "given what you were saying earlier, I thought you had this whole thing a little more… planned out."  
"I-I do," said Wilson quickly. "That's… definitely one of the challenges. Your question just, ah, caught me off guard." Willow nodded slowly, "fair enough." This girl's attitudes were maddeningly enigmatic… never mind that now. "You have to survive until you complete all of the other challenges." Willow cocked her head slightly, "that's not really a 'challenge'. I mean, if I die, of course I can't complete any other challenges. I'd say that's more of a rule… but it doesn't even deserve to be called that. It's basically 'the ultimate common sense'."  
"Picky, aren't you?"  
"Yeah, I guess so."  
Wilson put a hand to his temple, "okay… then we'll call that 'rule 1'." Wilson smirked, "you mean, 'don't die'?"  
"Yes," replied Wilson. "As for the challenges, I'll give you those one at a time. That way you won't worry about everything you have to do, and will be able to focus all of your energy on the task at hand." Willow nodded, "you said something else, too. You said that I have to 'find you'. That sounds a bit different from the 'challenges' you're talking about." Wilson thought for a moment, attempting to fully recall what his lie had been. He cursed himself for not thinking his words through… Willow had been trying to get him to go against his own words, he was certain. Finally, he thought of what to say. "That's one of the challenges," forcing his voice to sound calm and concise. "It's sort of the 'ultimate challenge'. Another pseudo-rule, you could say. Along the way, I'd like you to… you'll have to… complete a number of sub-challenges that will allow you to reach your final goal." Finally, smooth delivery. "Okay…" Willow said, putting her hand to her chin in thought, "then what's the first sub-challenge?" Smooth delivery gone. Wilson had no idea. He tried to remember the kinds of things he had done while attempting to get to Maxwell. He smiled; he had the perfect thing.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Willow whistled several times in succession, "Chester! Here, boy!"  
"That's not going to work," Wilson said as he watched the girl scurry about, "he's not even a dog, really."  
"Why are you helping me?" asked Willow, shooting Wilson an annoyed glance. The man shrugged. Willow rolled her eyes and went back to calling in vain. "You need to find the Eye Bone," Wilson said, continuing to advise Willow. "Either help or don't," said Willow, irritated. "I am helping," Wilson replied, unaffected by the girl's scorn. "You said I need to find something called an 'Eye Bone'," Willow sighed, "but that information is useless. I have no idea what an Eye Bone even IS." Wilson sat on the stump of a tree that Willow had felled a while earlier, despite the face that the action provided him with no comfort. "It'll be obvious when you see it," Wilson said vaguely. It was HIS turn to be enigmatic! This clearly did not amuse Willow, as she grumbled something that sounded quite vulgar under her breath. "You'll like Chester," Wilson said, recalling what few fond memories he had of his time in this hell, "he's friendly… and not to mention useful." Willow finally looked at him, stopping her rummaging through bushes for berries and the like, "not that you'll tell me what he actually IS…" she stuffed a few berries into her pocket and continued searching. She didn't have any leads on how to find this "Chester", and she was determined to do SOMETHING useful with her time. She figured that if she could keep Wilson talking, he would probably tell her more about how to find Chester. The older man was pretty easy to manipulate. On a related note, he was also easy to get information from. Said man shrugged again, "you wouldn't believe me."

"Come on, don't I get any hints?" pressed Willow. Her voice was deceptively innocent. "Oh, okay…" said Wilson airily, as if he were hardly paying attention to her, "I suppose…" he was silent for a while, causing Willow's anger to rise. She wondered if Wilson was beginning to learn to resist her tricks, or if he was just being… weird. Both seemed equally likely. "Um…" he droned, arching his spine backward so he faced the sky, "you should move. More than you are now. You won't find the Eye Bone skulking around out here. Well, not in this place… that we're in right now." Willow arched an eyebrow, "is it in… a building, or something?" Again, Wilson didn't respond. He was beginning to piss Willow off. "Do you see any buildings?" asked Wilson, in what may have been sarcasm. "… Uh, no…" said Willow, "but that doesn't mean there aren't any." Wilson nodded, eyes closed, "it doesn't." Willow had had enough. "What is WITH you??" she snapped, striding up to Wilson. He still didn't open his eyes, but replied, "I… am… so… bored." Willow was aghast. "I'm sorry, is my life and death struggle NOT EXCITING ENOUGH FOR YOU?" Wilson shook his head slightly, "no, it's not that," he said, not seeming to sense the biting sarcasm of Willow's remark. "I've just been…" he sighed, "oh, you're trying to trick me, aren't you? I'm really not in the mood right now." Wilson finally seemed to lose all of the energy he had, and his body slumped fully off of the stump, landing on the ground at an odd angle. Willow, for once, didn't know what to say. "Oh, just go and look somewhere else," said Wilson, as if Willow's presence was annoying him. Willow opened her mouth, ready to deliver a biting retort… but nothing came. Wilson always seemed so nervous and meek… was that all an act? Willow returned to where she had been collecting berries, shaken. All she could do was take Wilson's advice, and hope he wasn't leading her into some sort of trap. As she thought this over, she found that the notion was ridiculous. He had already trapped her.


	7. Chapter 7

Willow was very sore in a great deal of places. She had been lugging around a backpack that she had cobbled together out of grass and twigs for hours. The thing was cumbersome, and quite heavy; it rubbed against her shoulders, full to the brim with an assortment of items that she had deemed necessary. She was surprised as how much she had been able to fit into the bag, feeling that she were somehow cheating the laws of physics by cramming all manner of stones and berries in until the surprisingly sturdy sides bulged. Unfortunately, she didn't think she could fit any more items in there. She didn't think she could bare the weight of any more, anyway. Wilson had continued to follow her, but had not yet recovered from the mood he had been set into the previous day. He did not speak, and his eyes looked glassy and unfocused. The lack of his usually-incessant inane pestering had begun to unnerve Willow, even more so when he failed to warn her about the presence of the giant spiders that Willow was very sure were fully and utterly real. She had run, holding her pickaxe close in case of attack, but had not yet had to face any creature that actually fought back. Willow was unsure of how long this situation would last, however, as the terrain she now moved through was thick with both full pines and feisty arachnids.

When the sun had reached its zenith, Willow sat down to rest. Wilson kept walking. "Hey, weirdo," she called, "over here." Wilson stopped and turned, midway through a tree. Wilson cringed slightly; the sight of flesh protruding unnaturally through bark was somewhat disturbing. Wilson walked over to her, not looking specifically at anything. "How's the weather in crazy town?" Willow asked. Wilson didn't respond. Surprise, surprise. A sharp hiss emerging from the thick shadows cast by the trees that surrounded Willow shocked her into a firm, upright stance, though she sat stalk-still. Wilson twitched, and though he did not really look "all there", Willow saw some light of recognition in his eyes. Willow reached into her pack, finding a grip on her makeshift pickaxe. Whatever was hissing at her sounded unfriendly at best. In fact she thought she knew what it was. "Spiders," she hissed, letting out the breath that she had been holding. 

Willow slid the backpack off of herself, alternating which arm she removed with which held her weapon. She wanted to be free of the weight, in case she was forced to make a hasty retreat. In the same slow motion, she grabbed a small chunk of rock that she had put in the pack in hopes that she would be able to craft it into a more worthy weapon that the one she currently possessed, or put it to any other number of frankly extraordinarily creative and resourceful uses (if she did say do herself). The day’s sun was bright and hot, reflecting off of the surrounding ground, giving the area a yellowish, earthy hue. A jittering motion caught Willow’s eye, and she turned her head to face it. An almost comically large face topped the black, spindly legs of the spider that was now shifting toward Willow. The hiss of this thing was echoed by that of another, which, upon seeing that an ally had entered the scene, also began to close in on Willow.

The fiery girl presented a brave front, but just below the surface of this facade, she was quite fearful. Willow had never been concerned by spiders, viewing being afraid of something so small and harmless as rather silly. Of course, the situation changed when pearly eyes and fangs were larger than the eyes and teeth of humans. While the frightful duo descended upon Willow, she noted that one of them briefly investigated Wilson, but quickly disregarded his presence, perhaps due to the combination of his lack of scent and non-threatening posture. Or perhaps it was something else… not that Willow’s suspicions of that self-proclaimed “ruler” were particularly relevant at the moment.

Willow would make a break for it as soon as she was sure she wasn’t going to run headlong into another spider, or something else that wanted to kill her. She would take a quick look around, and take off in the least dangerous-looking direction. Unfortunately, the moment that Willow’s eyes left the advancing spiders, they leapt foreword, launching themselves teeth-first at the unlucky human that they had chosen to be their prey. Willow let out a brief scream of fear before stumbling backward, narrowly dodging a bite that would have likely severed some vital appendage. This small advantage quickly turned on her when her back hit the ground, and the spider redoubled its attempts, jerking forward. Willow bunched her legs up under her, kicking them out as fiercely as she could, knocking the spider off of her, briefly dazing it. Willow took this opportunity to scramble to her feet, but was quickly set upon by her second attacker.

Willow spun around, searching for the rock that she had dropped. She snapped it up, whirling around again and lobbing the stone directly into the face of the unsettlingly close second spider, briefly knocking any aggressive thoughts out of its head. Willow then took in hand her rough-hewn pickaxe, driving it down, striking the spider’s head-and-probably-also-body. Moving quickly, she continued her assault, the point of her makeshift weapon eventually rending enough of her quarry’s flesh to render it harmless. Willow’s concentration on bringing about this creature’s final moments, however, created an opportunity for its companion to strike.

Having regained its senses, the spider that Willow had stunned earlier drew toward her, readying its savage bite. Upon the death of its companion, this creeping arachnid attacked, its teeth puncturing Willow’s prone flesh. The girl screamed, sensations of surprise and pain blending in her mind to form a distinct emotion of terror. Before Willow could react further, the spider released and bit into her again, doubling the damage it dealt. Willow bit back another shriek of pain and stumbled foreword, dislodging herself from the spider that had suddenly and decisively gained the upper hand. In her dazed state, Willow recognized that she heard something akin to a voice. She could not be sure, however, as her senses had been narrowed into what might be referred to as all-encompassing tunnel vision. She had been in fights before, but not with anything that had clearly wanted to kill her. Not when her only way out was to lay waste to her opponent, lest her life meet an early end.

Attempting to limit any telegraphing, wanting her motions to come out of nowhere, Willow struck. Overhanded, she brought her cumbersome pickaxe down upon the creature opposing her. The spider lacked Willow’s ability to feign spontaneity, but in its place had a genuine killer instinct. Nigh instantly it reacted to Willow’s movements, choosing fight in the face of aggression. Willow’s attack hit its target, but so did the spider’s, finding its mark in Willow’s leg.

Willow’s situation was quickly deteriorating. Although shock, a biological mechanism prompting her survival, had muted the pain that Willow would surely be suffering otherwise, she could only assume that she was losing a substantial amount of blood, or would be soon. The warm, dark liquid decorated her body and leg, further coating her weapon as if to testify to her resilience. A brief lull in the combat allowed Willow’s mind to process what she had heard earlier: it had been Wilson’s voice. Somehow, he had at least temporarily regained what little sanity he had, and currently looked as if he were attempting to distract the spider that stood opposing Willow.  
“Yeah! You! You scuttling… oh, god, this looks bad… face me, you monstrosity! Yah!!”  
Unfortunately, the beast would not be deterred, and given that Wilson had no physical form, it didn’t look as though he was going to be particularly helpful anytime soon.

With minimal planning, Willow dashed foreword again, but this time dodged to the side, narrowly missing the spider’s bulk as it leapt to face her head-on. Pickaxe ready, Willow swung, the point of the axe rending the flesh of the spider’s side. Anticipating the spider’s next move, Willow took a few quick steps back, dodging a swift bite. Willow was beginning to feel the effects of her injuries; she had to end this battle soon. Fortunately, she was beginning to become accustomed to battle, and continued to alternately move and quickly strike her opponent. Aware that her stamina was failing her, Willow reared back and put all of her strength into a final blow, the metal head of her axe lodging itself in the brain of the now-deceased spider.

Shaking, Willow slid to the ground, her breath coming in harsh pants. Reality became hazy as Willow’s mind began to go blank, but she was tethered to reality by a sudden presence next to her.  
“You need to move.”  
It was Wilson’s voice. Willow didn’t know what was up with how he was acting, and at the moment, she didn’t care. She closed her eyes, not moving from where she sat, allowing herself a moment to rest. “There might be more,” insisted Wilson. Willow didn’t respond. Wilson groaned anxiously, and Willow could picture him nervously looking around. “I don’t think you can handle another fight right now,” Wilson continued, despite the fact that Willow did not seem to be listening to him, “I can tell you about some remedies to help with the pain you’re feeling… or, that I think you must be feeling…” he sighed, “look, I’m sorry. I truly am. It’s just that, you see, even though I can no longer sleep, due to… ah, well, you don’t need to know that… but my mind still needs rest. The human mind cannot be active all of the time, even though I’m not sure I’m entirely human anymore, heh… but the point is, I’m trying to follow you and help you as best I can, but there are certain…”  
“Wilson…” Willow said, loud enough to cut his rambling off. “Oh! Yes?” he replied. “Shut up,” she finished. “… I understand,” he responded. “You can take care of yourself. Clearly. Just… be careful. I’ll be here with you. And don’t forget, the sun will set in a few hours.” Willow laid down and rolled onto her side. She wasn’t going to sleep… she was just going to rest.


End file.
